


Bragging Rights

by Ragdoll (Keshka)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, First Kiss, Flirting, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Romance, Smart Kirk, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-18 06:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13676112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keshka/pseuds/Ragdoll
Summary: AU. Two and a half years into his time at Starfleet Academy, Cadet Jim Kirk meets Lieutenant-Commander Spock, and the sparks begin to fly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To keep up with the times I've finally decided to import some of my fanwork over to AO3. :-) Bragging Rights was originally written for the 2009 K/S Advent Calendar. Since that's going back 9 years (yikes!), there were parts of this I really cringed at in my more recent read-through. So after some existential angst and anguish I'm posting an edited version.
> 
> Amanda Warrington originally beta'd this, so many thanks to her! No beta for this new version, so of course all mistakes are mine (please feel free to point any out to me). Thanks, and cheers all.

"Rise and shine, Jim boy!  Up and at 'em!"

"Oh, my God," Kirk said, slamming a pillow down over his eyes with a moan.  " _Why_ would you."

The weak morning light was gentle and mild, but the way it stabbed into his brain like a knife made Kirk suspect some terrible catastrophe had stuck the Earth, turning the planet's surface into hellfire and brimstone.

Or possibly he was just very, very hung over.

“I think I may have overdone it," Kirk said wretchedly into his pillow.

"What makes you say that?" McCoy said, and then cruelly stole it away from him.

"Because I don't remember what happened after bar number four," Kirk groaned, flailing at him wildly.  "Give that back.  Ow!  Remind me why I thought drinking my way through four different ‘fleet-serving bars was a good idea?"

“Can’t," McCoy said, sounding terribly smug.  "I thought it was dumb from the start.”

Kirk’s friend – _ex-friend_ – had the gall to sound like he thought Kirk deserved every second of pain he was in.  Traitor.

“Unless the Academy's about to burn down around us, I'm kicking you the hell out.  Unless you come bearing a hangover remedy.  Then you can stay."

Kirk burrowed further beneath his comfortable nest of blankets.  He moaned miserably as his beleaguered brain was forced to move with him.  Damn; he really should have cut and run after bar number three.  He wasn’t sure modern medicine came with an analgesic strong enough to kill the headache pounding its way through his skull.

“Wow," he said.  "The inside of my mouth is fuzzy.  Is that normal?  That can't be normal.  Oh, my God, what was I thinking?"

“I ask myself that every day,” McCoy muttered from somewhere above him, and yeah, Kirk should have known better than to try eliciting sympathy from the man – Bones had never been particularly moved by the Kirk charm, and was less and less so the longer their friendship went on.

“Do you have a reason for being here other than to torment me?”

“Do I need a better reason? But lucky for you, I come bearing gifts. Someone has to save you from your own idiocy, and I’m not about to let you reward yourself by skipping out on classes just because you decided to overindulge like some stupid teenager.”

“I am genuinely offended by that," Kirk muffled into the mattress.  "I was never a stupid teenager.  I've always been a genius.  Now g’way."

“Not a chance. C’mon, _genius_ , rise and shine!” his friend ordered, and a hard jerk of the bedclothes nearby managed to untwist Kirk from his nest.  He desperately tightened his bodily grip on every bit of fabric in his vicinity, closing up tight like a clam.  He was in no way ready to face the day, and McCoy couldn't make him.

“Piss off, Bones,” he grunted, scuttling crab-like to the far side of the bed and rolling over twice into a blanket burrito. “If you’re here that means class hasn’t started yet.  I’m not getting up one second sooner than I have to, so you might as well clear out.”

“Don’t be such an ass,” McCoy growled, with another futile tug at the blankets.  "You know, for such a hot-shot Academy legend, you can be a real _infant_ sometimes, Jim.”

At the word ‘infant’, the hiss of a depressurized hypo reached Kirk’s ringing ears, followed by the sting of some chemical concoction rushing through his system. The stabbing pain began to subside almost immediately and he groaned in blissful relief.

“Bones,” he proclaimed, popping up from his burrito with his hair sticking every which way, looking – he was certain – as awesome as ever. “You are a _God_. I owe you one.”

“You owe me seven, and that’s if we’re only counting hangover remedies,” McCoy snapped, shoving the hypo back into his medical kit and closing it with pointed sharpness, probably to let Kirk know how annoyed he was. Unperturbed, Kirk sprang up from the bed, his migraine already a long-forgotten memory.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, smacking his lips in disgust.  His mouth really was revolting.  And fuzzy.  It was slightly worrying. “One of these days.”

“The only way you could make it up to me would be to avoid doing it in the first place. And considering the state of your liver and your libido I can tell that's not exactly on your priority list.”

“No, no, it is!” Kirk protested, hastily checking the chronometer – just going on nine, which gave him an hour to dispel the worst of the night's sins and get ready for class.  “I’ve decided to make it my New Year’s resolution.”

Now that he was standing on two feet, Kirk could see him room looked like a tornado had come through it, disaster everywhere.  What is the world?  He seemed to have a vague memory of blonde hair, luscious lips, and legs that went on forever; a name, however, escaped him. 

"Huh," he said, then "Aha!" when he managed to liberate a lightly used uniform from beneath the dresser.

“Oh, let me guess. You’ve made it your mission in life to drink every day of the week now instead of just weekends, is that it?"

McCoy's sarcasm was thick, but Kirk's hide was thicker.

“Nope. I’ve decided to knock it down to once a week, and I’m swearing off girls of all shapes, races, and sizes, for at least a month. They’re definitely more trouble than they’re worth.”

“I’ll have to let Ariel know you feel that way.”

“No!” Kirk's fingers froze in the act of fastening the jacket.  He scoured his hazy recollections of the night but things were a blur at best and an absolute blank at worst. “Tell me it wasn’t…? Last night?”

“Oh, it was,” McCoy said, sounding more pleased than he had any right to as he knowingly crushed his best friend’s hopes beneath the ruthless heel of his unsympathetic boot. “At least she had enough sense to take off when you started sucking down alcohol like it was going out of style.  But she was definitely there.  Too bad, Jim.  After chasing her for the last two weeks solid it looks like you blew the only chance she was willing to give you. Or may ever give you, if last night’s episode left any kind of impression.”

“Damn. _Way_ more trouble than they’re worth,” Kirk muttered, rummaging around his closet for boots and accidentally incited a mild avalanche.  He swore profusely as he struggled his way to freedom. “I’m making it two months. No - three.”

“Hah!” McCoy scoffed.  A resounding crash made Kirk look over in time to see his friend shoving a pile of data pads to the floor as he sat down on a chair, looking thoroughly put out.

“I hate to be the one to break this to you, Jim," McCoy said.  "But I’m pretty sure they’ve got your picture stamped up next to the word 'womanizer' in the dictionary. You wouldn’t last two days without chasing after some skirt.  Let alone three months.”

“Hey, I could stop if I wanted to," Kirk said, "I do have _some_ self control, you know."  He scrubbed his hands through his hair before combing it back with his fingers.  He'd gel it later, but he had it on good authority women liked messy bedroom hair.  And there were three beautiful cadets in his morning class he wouldn't mind impressing on a more personal basis sometime.

“Spoken like a true addict,” McCoy said.

“What, you don’t think I could do it?”

“Not a chance.”

“You willing to put credits down on that?” Kirk challenged.

“On you lasting three months? Hell yes. Are _you?_ ”

Kirk glared at him and then stomped away into the fresher without bothering to dignify that with an answer.

McCoy's laughter trailed behind him, smug and infuriating.  Kirk managed to endure the mocking for a heroic ten seconds before he popped his head back out with a scowl.

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”

“And miss this little delusion of yours?  Nope.  Three months, eh?  Hah!”

“Oh, shut up,” Kirk said, stabbing his dry toothbrush in McCoy’s direction.  “Okay, maybe not three, but I could last at least a month. No problem.”

“You sure about that?”

Kirk rolled his eyes skyward and disappeared back into the fresher.

“Well, I won’t put credits on a month,” McCoy called, still sounding far too amused for Kirk’s peace of mind. “But I’ll tell you what, Jim – if you manage to drop the girls and the booze for at least two months, I’ll give you an entire bottle of Saurian brandy, _and_ take care of your hangovers lecture-free until, say… Spring.”

“Lecture-free?” Kirk drawled, forced to lean out again so he could give McCoy his best disbelieving stare. “ _You?_ I think we should put credits on how long you last at _that_."

The scowl he received in return brightened his day considerably.

“That’s the offer,” McCoy said, crossing his arms over his chest irritably. “Take it or leave it.”

“You don’t think it’s counterproductive to offer someone alcohol as a reward for sobriety?”

“I think we both know there’s no chance you’re actually going to stay that way,” McCoy said.

Insulted, but willing to let it slide in the interest of bragging rights – not to mention the ability to tell McCoy to stuff it and still be guaranteed a hangover-free day – the alcohol was a mere pittance measured against _that_ – Kirk thought it over carefully.  His friend had been known to trick him in the past when he could get away with it, though McCoy always paid up any actual debts owed in the end.

“So let me get this straight – if I hold off on my, ah, _womanizing_ for the two months up to Christmas, you’ll cough up a bottle of Saurian brandy and cater to all my partying needs for the winter term with no fuss, no muss? What’s the catch?”

“No women, no booze,” McCoy reminded him. “And that means nothing. No liquor, no liqueur, no bars. No dates, no after-hours visits, no elevator eyes, no flirting. Nada, zip, zero, zilch. You get the picture?”

“Harsh, Bones,” Kirk said, and he wasn’t sure if he was referring to the lack of faith or to the terms of the bet – which actually, now it'd been laid out in such stark, uncompromising detail, did seem a little nasty.  Kirk couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to curb his flirting with every pretty girl that came his way.  He might have been eight or nine at the time.  Or was it seven?  Either way, it was practically conditioned behavior at this point.  Bones could be a real bastard sometimes.  Still, for a bottle of Saurian brandy and some peace and quiet, Kirk was certain he could hold out for at least eight weeks.

Well.  Mostly certain.

“You backing out already, Jim boy?”

“A Kirk never backs out of a bet,” he proclaimed, determined that if nothing else he’d make his cynical friend eat his own words when all was said and done. “Make it two bottles and it’s a deal.”

McCoy examined him, a slow smile curving the edge of his lips that disturbed Kirk on a number of levels for its sheer unnerving devilry.

“All right, Jim, two months, two bottles – but no exceptions. Eight weeks, starting today. Seeing as this is the first week of November, I guess that means this is one New Year’s party you’ll be amazingly sober for.”

“Oh c’mon, Bones, have a heart.  Being sober for New Years is like watching the sun rise with your eyes closed.  Or listening to music with earmuffs on!"

“Don’t even try it, Kirk.  You’re either in or you’re out.  Getting cold feet already?”

“Oh, you are so _on_ , McCoy.  Done!  Now get the hell out of here.  If I don’t wash out my mouth with industrial-strength toothpaste in the next three minutes I think I might develop gum disease by the time class starts.”

“I always come prepared for just about anything when I make your morning rounds, Jim,” McCoy told him heartlessly, patting his med-kit and looking smug. “Though I’m usually less concerned about the state of your gums than I am about the state of your – “

“Out!” Kirk shouted and wished he had a real door to slam, because listening to the soft swish of the automatics cutting off the sound of McCoy's laughter was nowhere near as satisfying.

~*~*~*~

Falling asleep to the mind-numbingly boring, droning voice of his Intra-Galactic Diplomatic Relations instructor four days later was almost enough to make Kirk wish he had his hangover back.  At least then he would've had an excuse to skip this travesty of a lecture.  The gentle snoring coming from either side of him gave him some comfort, at least - he clearly wasn't alone in his pain.  He'd tried to test out of this course at the beginning of the semester, but his academic advisor had taken one look at him and told him in no uncertain terms that diplomatic relationships couldn't be learned from a textbook and if he thought they could he needed to go back to square one and "get the hell out of my office, Kirk, and don't come back until you've graduated top of your class, full marks or else, I mean it!"

Needless to say, he'd been stuck taking the damn course after that.

It was with a feeling of profound relief that Kirk finally heard the deep bass tone of dismissal at the end of the hour.  He wasn’t quite the first one out the door, but it was a near thing.

He cut across the main square en route to McCoy’s class.  They met for a late lunch at least once a week, unless Kirk had other places (people – ahem, _women_ ) to see.  Since he found himself with a sudden abundance of free time, his best option for entertainment seemed to rest with his grumpy and disgruntled friend.  How unfortunate for the good doctor.  But that was the price he paid for laying ridiculously unfair bets.  

The week had not been a barrel of fun so far.  After the tenth time Kirk had caught himself reaching for a drink or automatically starting to admire a passing woman, he'd had to concede privately to himself that perhaps McCoy had a small - very small, vanishingly small, really, miniscule - point.  Maybe Kirk was a _little_ bit excessive with the women and the booze.

Not that he'd ever tell McCoy that.

The biological sciences wing was just beginning to empty into the busy corridor when Kirk hot-footed it over there.  Bones was nowhere in sight so he settled in to wait, a cat with ruffled fur patiently stalking its prey.  By the time his friend ( _ex-friend_ , the bastard) ambled out Kirk was almost chomping at the bit.

“Bones!” he barked, sidling up to the good doctor and clamping an arm around him before he could escape.  McCoy jumped about a foot in the air and Kirk petulantly hoped it gave him whiplash. “Glad to see you’re free for lunch, as always!  I think you and I need to have a chat –"

“Actually, Jim, I do have plans.  I have to –“

“– call and let her know you’re bringing a friend along,” Kirk finished, tightening his grip when the other man tried to break free.  “I’m sure she won’t mind.  And damn, Bones, you dog, swearing me to chastity and then sneaking off to some hot lunch date of your own.  You probably had this whole thing planned, just didn’t want the competition –“

“Like I need to worry about that even when you _haven’t_ consented to temporary neutering. Besides, it’s not –“

“ _Temporary neutering?_  God, I hope you haven't been spreading that bit of gossip around –“

“It appears that Doctor McCoy is at less risk of committing that act of indiscretion than you are, Cadet.”

Surprise momentarily short-circuited Kirk's world-renowned talent for cunning and cleverness.  Which was a shame, since the pointed ears and upswept eyebrows told Kirk that if ever there were a time for cunning and cleverness, this was it.

“Uh,” he said intelligently.

“Like I was trying to say,” McCoy said, shrugging off Kirk’s restraining arm.  "It’s not a _date_ , it’s a damned _meeting_.  Jim, this is Lieutenant-Commander Spock.  Commander, I’m sure you already know Jim Kirk, by his sterling reputation alone if nothing else.”

Kirk also knew of the good commander – similarly, by reputation alone, and he’d occasionally glimpsed him from afar.  But this was the first opportunity he’d had to see the man up close. He met the dark eyes that turned to him, noting with some fascination that the reflection from the artificial lights burnished them a truly extraordinary shade of black.  It suited the man – turning features that were already attractive into a sort of otherworldly beauty.  If he’d been a woman, Kirk would have called him unbearably pretty.  As it was, he was more than a little handsome – not that Kirk was noticing or anything.  People who involved themselves with noticing the attractiveness of Vulcans tended to have their fantasies popped without much delay.  He forced himself to look away.

“I am cognizant of Cadet Kirk’s identity,” the Vulcan confirmed, voice a mellow hum.  Kirk couldn’t tell from his tone – or lack thereof – whether or not this cognizance was a good thing, but he did take a moment to resent the fact that even the Vulcan's voice was unfairly attractive.

“Not from the gossip grapevine,” Kirk said, before McCoy could get that word in edgewise he just knew his friend was itching to deliver.  "Or else you wouldn’t still be standing there.  Don’t listen to a word of it, by the way – it’s all a pack of lies, I promise.”

“I was previously inclined to agree.  However, considering the discussion I could not help but overhear, it seems that rumors as to your person may not be as exaggerated as I have assumed.”

Kirk was startled into a laugh.  If he hadn’t known better, he’d swear the man had just made a joke at his expense, but surely not.  Vulcans didn’t joke.

“Don't count your chickens until they've hatched, Commander,” McCoy muttered.  “Knowing Kirk, it’s not so much that it’s all possible as it’s all _probable_.”

"Thanks a lot, Bones," Kirk scowled.

“Sorry Jim, but you’re going to have to find some other form of entertainment today,” McCoy said loudly over Kirk’s indignation. “Commander Spock's overseeing the xenobiology lectures this term and we're meeting to finalize the terms for my dissertation.  Some of us have to _work_ for our marks, you know.”

“I work, ” Kirk protested.  And he did, though thank all the lucky stars he'd been blessed with a mind that seemed to work better on autopilot than some others managed on full cylinders.  He couldn't explain how or why it worked, but he'd never met an applied science he couldn't understand or a tactical course he couldn't master.  Theory was a bit harder, but books soaked into his skin like rain over dry land and often he'd find himself picturing lines he'd read years, decades ago even, having halfway forgotten they even existed but appearing as if by magic when he needed them. 

Kirk knew his mind was a mystery to most, but really it was no less an enigma to him than it was to everybody else.

“Yeah, you work at getting dates, maybe,” McCoy grumbled.  “When it comes to your course work – ha!  Maybe _you_ should be the one attending lunch meetings."

“If you believe Cadet Kirk might benefit from participating in our discussion he is welcome to join us, of course,” Commander Spock said obligingly.

“What?” both Humans said, all prospective arguments instantly derailed.

“I have no objections to the cadet’s presence, provided the purpose of the meeting is completed to the satisfaction of Doctor McCoy and myself.”

“Whoa,” Kirk said, backpedaling rapidly. “I didn’t mean –“

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” McCoy interrupted, reaching out and clamping a hand over Kirk’s shoulder when it seemed he might bolt with nary a word of farewell. “He might actually learn something.  Besides, Jim's always been _passionate about biology_ , isn’t that right, Jim?”

And that was how Kirk found himself sitting down to lunch with his very ex-ex-friend (becoming more ex with each second) and a Vulcan who, Kirk noted with some amusement, drew more appreciative looks than he himself did, and yet seemed entirely unaware of that fact.

For the first twenty minutes Kirk let the two of them hash out the more technical details of the good doctor's course work.  He entertained himself by providing sufficiently loud and annoying silence, tapping pointedly at his data pad while McCoy shot him irritated looks at every pause in the conversation.  Really, it served the man right; it wasn't like Kirk had anything to contribute to this discussion anyway, why McCoy'd wanted to drag him along Kirk had no idea, what was he even doing here -

“ – and there have been two recent studies targeting atypical mutations with cross and interspecies humanoid hybrids that you may find useful to your research,” Commander Spock was saying.  The Vulcan had laced his fingers together comfortably on the table, index fingers steepled in contemplation.

“That sounds perfect – actually, if you’ve got them handy, I’d love to take a look at them.”

“I have only the abstracts with me.  If you will provide me with your dorm allocation number, I will transfer the files directly to your room terminal.”

"Hang on," Kirk said.  "I thought you were doing your dissertation on the ‘potential impact of Human viral cross-contamination in first contact situations’?”

McCoy stared at him in what Kirk chose to believe was reluctant admiration (not astonished suspicion).  The Vulcan only blinked serenely, which was distracting in and of the itself - the man had eyelashes as long as his arm, no man should have eyelashes like that, did he enhance them, no, of course a Vulcan wouldn't -

“Well,” McCoy said. “I was going to do that originally.  Yeah.”

“You seemed pretty passionate about it,” Kirk reminded him. “I think my ears are still bleeding from the last time you ranted at me about how first contact commands needed more safety protocols.  And how I'm always leaping without looking and if I wanted to be Captain one day I had to keep cross contamination in mind because if I didn't you were going to let me, quote, 'die from some awful alien virus, Jim, see if I don't, it would serve you right'.  End quote.”

“You were actually listening to that?” McCoy exclaimed.  

Kirk blinked at him slowly, ponderously.

“I always listen to you, Bones,” he said innocently, and before that could devolve into outraged chaos: “So what changed your mind?”

“Nothing,” McCoy grunted, annoyed. “I’ve been encouraged to revise it to include other major Federation races, which means examining a larger pool of viral contaminants.”

“That’s going to extend your work by several months, at least, if not years,” Kirk pointed out. “That's really going all out.  You know this is your second doctorate, right?  Don't kill yourself over it.  And anyway, as of last year's stats the ratio of Humans to non-Humans serving aboard Federation starships is almost twenty to one. If you’re looking for a ruling majority, Earth-based viruses are going to be your primary concern.”

“You do not agree that research of this magnitude should include a wider range of species and disease vectors?” Commander Spock interrupted sharply, and Kirk swung around to face him, startled.  He realized that his attempt to play devil’s advocate – always an entertaining venture around McCoy – might have come across as more than a little xenophobic to the only non-Human sitting at the table.

“No, of course not,” Kirk said, shrugging sheepishly.  "Mostly I was just being an asshole to rile Bones up.  There are first contact contamination events dating back as long as Starfleet's been in operation.  Even Admiral Archer encountered a few when he was Captain of the Enterprise.  Did you read the mission logs about Kreetassa?  I know we're talking about Humanoid contamination, but that was a clear example of an acquired cross-species pathogen.  It's the responsibility of every commander in a first contact situation to be aware of the possibility they might exist."

Kirk leaned forward intently, and saw the Vulcan do the same, the full force of his interest coming to bear like a weight against Kirk's chest.  McCoy, who remained uncharacteristically silent, faded from Kirk’s mind as though he weren’t even present. Suddenly it seemed that the only connection Kirk had to this conversation lay in the expanse of those dark eyes staring at him.  His heart was like a drum inside him, pounding.

"One of my classmates is an Orion," Kirk continued, "The Orions have a genome that can unconsciously alter metabolism and pheromone production in others.  Deltans have something similar.  If I'm a Captain, I should know that I could never send either of them down to a first contact situation without adequate suppressants."

He grinned in sudden, fond memory.  "Well, that and my Orion friend, she's maybe not suited to first contact.  I'd have to ask her.  She's more of a second, third contact kind of woman, if you know what I mean.”

He didn't realize how suggestively he'd said that last part until he felt his lips trying to turn up into a seductive grin and had to clamp down on the urge hurriedly.  No flirting, of course he wasn't flirting.  Not with anyone, but certainly not with a Vulcan, with the famous Lieutenant-Commander _Spock_ of Vulcan.

“You have an impressive knowledge of interspecies viral and physiological interaction,” Spock said, seeming not to notice Kirk's faux pas.

“I know a little,” Kirk admitted, drawing his attention back from the places it had wandered to. “My brother, Sam; he's a research biologist stationed on Deneva.  And McCoy beats some of it into me whenever he’s feeling particularly neglected.”

"I do not," McCoy said, reminding Kirk with some surprise that he was still there.

“Cadet Kirk –”

“Call me Jim,” he interrupted, thinking that the last time he’d been addressed by his rank so often was when he’d been told by his advisor that there was no way a wet-behind-the-ears cadet was going to make the cut for the accelerated program.  Kirk had made him eat those words, and he'd been smug about it for months afterward.  Then the guy had come back saying "if you can manage that then you can manage the top ten percent too, Kirk, no excuses!" and suddenly he'd had a lot less to be smug about.

Commander Spock raised an eyebrow at the Human's presumption.  Kirk studied those sharp, elegant features with his full attention, scrutiny that didn’t go unnoticed by the Vulcan.   The second eyebrow joined the first in silent enquiry.

“As you are unlikely to fall under my direct purview as an instructor, you may address me as Spock if you wish,” the Vulcan said. 

Kirk smiled with genuine delight and knew then that he'd been snagged: hook, line, and sinker.

“I wish,” Kirk assured him.

Lunch hadn’t exactly gone as Kirk had expected when he’d first set out to hunt down and harass the treacherous McCoy for some light entertainment. 

It had gone better.  And if entertainment was what he'd been searching for - well, it had certainly provided that.  And then some.


	2. Chapter 2

It took a solid two weeks before Kirk was willing to concede that maybe this bet wasn't entirely a bad idea after all.  

With his accelerated program he carried two extra courses every term - one academic, one practical.  The practical course and at least one of the academics always had a final he could take early to avoid timing conflicts, and he was allowed to defer one final with a one-week delay.  All that might seem awesome in theory, but realistically all it meant was Kirk spent weeks longer than his cadet cohort doing marathon studying and prep work.  Women and booze were a great distraction from that grueling pace, but he'd never really realized how _exhausting_ keeping all of those things up was until he, well, didn't need to anymore.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but he was starting to think maybe he had a problem. 

Which, again, maybe this little wager wasn't a half-bad idea.  At the very least, it had given him enough time to acquire an unusual new acquaintance to test out his famous Kirk charm on. 

Unfortunately Spock seemed about as susceptible to it as McCoy.

"Is your intention to take a second academic minor?  Command expertise will be an advantage but an engineering or navigation sub-specialty might increase your utility.  Or perhaps astrophysics would be of interest."

"I tested out of most of the entry level applied science courses," Kirk said, dodging neatly as some asshole almost tripped him into Spock.  Academy common areas were always busy but this close to year's end everyone had that same haunted, harassed look about them and seemed to spend more time running from one place to the other than strolling liesurely.  Go figure. 

"One can assume this means you intend to test out of the mid-level courses as well," Spock said.

"Uh, no.  One cannot assume that."

"Perhaps you have already done so," Spock said, not exactly questioning.

"You really have a hard on for my academics, huh?" Kirk said.  "I think you have a crush on my _brain_.  Which I can't really blame you for.  It's a pretty awesome brain."

"What is a hard on?" Spock asked.

Kirk opened his mouth, reconsidered, and closed it.  "Yeah, no," he said.  "I'm not touching that one with a twenty-foot duridium rod."

Thankfully they had to part ways before Spock could ask for more clarification. 

Kirk wasn't sure whether he ought to feel flattered to have acquired the singular attention of Starfleet's most famous (and only) Vulcan officer, or scared for his life.  Possibly both.  He wasn't sure what exactly he'd said during the lunch-that-was-a-meeting that managed to put him on a _Vulcan's_ radar, but there it was.  It was clear from their few encounters that Spock thought he had potential; also clear he thought Kirk was wasting it. 

Looking back, Kirk was aware that they must've passed each other in the corridors before.  The Academy was just not large enough for it never to have happened in the two years Kirk had been there.  But obviously he'd never stopped to notice the intense Spock-ness of the man until now, and probably Spock had never stopped to notice the Kirk-ness, either.  Now whenever he ended up running between courses he found himself looking around on the way for a set of pointed ears.  The pull was powerful; he wasn't sure how they could have missed it before but Kirk privately conceded that in the past there might have been, eh, other urgent matters taking up most of his attention, and a lot of them had names like Ariel and Christine and Ximora.   

Still, sometimes it was as though all his thinking about the Vulcan managed to conjure him from thin air. Kirk was more than a little surprised to find the man in probably the last place he would have ever expected to see him: the mall.

Christmas shopping was hell, Kirk decided, scowling at the array of cheerfully arranged gift packages on display in front of him.  Half the wall was taken up by a hologram advert that cycled through some several thousand shopping items.  A nearby emitter offered to let people try out various larger ticket items in simulation.  Holo-tech was one of the leading engineering fields of late, and Kirk itched to get his sticky fingers on some so he could take it apart right down to its opti-cable.  Maybe he'd pick some  up to start experimenting with after he finished shopping.

He couldn’t decide what annoyed him more – the actual act of shopping, or the thousands of other people jockeying for position in the mayhem. He’d tried to bribe McCoy into coming with him – for the amusement factor alone, if not the man's advice – but he hadn’t gone for it, something about ‘you want me to what' and 'are you delusional; do you need medical attention' and ‘not even if hell froze over’.  Though Kirk hadn’t quite caught the whole diatribe. Probably better off that way.

He’d managed to find something appropriate for his mother by about noon, but Sam was proving more than a little difficult, not to mention his grumpy best friend.

So it was without the slightest hint of expectation that he literally ran smack into Spock on aisle four of the Golden Gate shopping center, right next to the garland and the fake holly. The impact actually sent him reeling into one of the mechanized Santa impersonators, which promptly exclaimed ‘ho, ho, ho!’ and nearly scared three years off his life.

“Jesus, Spock,” he gasped, righting the Santa to another rousing chorus of ‘ho, ho, ho!’ and stepping away lest the commotion draw even more attention. “Has anyone ever threatened to bell you?”

“Negative.  I am uncertain as to the process of such an action.”

“Never mind,” Kirk said quickly, even as thoughts of bells and collars and that surprisingly attractive eyebrow lifting in disdainful inquiry began to take root in his imagination.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” he said, hurrying down the aisle away from the Santa, which seemed to Kirk to watch in a very eerie fashion as they stepped out of sight. Who could stand to buy one of those things?  Ugh.  Creepy.

“I am attempting to locate an appropriate gift for my mother, a task at which I have been unsuccessful as yet. I find the process of discovering, purchasing, and transporting items at this time of year to be exceedingly time-consuming and inefficient.”

"You and me both,” Kirk muttered. “Although, hey, as long as you’re here – you’re a scientist, right?”

The Vulcan stared at him for a moment, one eyebrow climbing his brow until it rested at the highest point of its peak.  Kirk sternly suppressed the arrow of desire bubbling low in his gut. _Stop it Kirk,_ he told himself. _You can’t be turned on by a man’s eyebrow.  That’s just wrong._

“Though I had thought you aware of my designation and credentials, I can reiterate them for you if you desire."

“No, no,” Kirk said, waving him off. “I get that part, of course.  I was going to say, as a scientist, if you were to receive a gift, er – what would you like it to be?”

The second eyebrow joined the first, sending another dart of desire to regions Kirk had sworn to steer clear of for more than a month yet, dammit.

“I do not understand the purpose of your question,” Spock said.

“I’m heading home to Iowa for a few days after finals.  Family tradition that we all be on Earth this time of year so that means my brother will be around – I never have any idea what to get him and I usually end up with a flop gift that I _know_ gets thrown out an airlock the minute I’m not looking.  So as a fellow scientist, what might you hope to get for the holidays if Santa left you a surprise gift under the Christmas tree?”

“I am certain you are aware that 'Santa Claus' is neither real, nor even remotely credible.  He is a figure rooted deeply in Human mythology – “

"Hey, don't hate on Santa,” Kirk said, smiling angelically at Spock’s slow blink of confusion. “You’re talking to a true believer!”

“Surely you cannot – “

“So, gift ideas?” Kirk interrupted before the discussion could devolve into a scientific dissertation on the mythological existence/non-existence of Santa Claus.

“I have none.  I have no desire to be gifted material items of which I am fully capable of acquiring myself.”

Kirk rolled his eyes. “C’mon Spock, use your imagination; I know you have one buried inside that analytical brain of yours. _If_ you were to receive a gift, what would it be?  What's good old mom given you in the past that set your Vulcan heart aflutter?"

Actually... “Wait,” he said in some confusion. “If your parents are Vulcan, why the hell are you buying them Christmas gifts?”

For the first time in their admittedly short acquaintance, Spock actually looked – visibly and noticeably _looked_ – uncomfortable.  Kirk stared at him.  The Vulcan cut his eyes away until they rested on some point just over and beyond the Human’s left shoulder.

“I am not purchasing an item for both of my parents.  My father would certainly not appreciate such a gesture.  My mother, however, is quite insistent we share this tradition.  Her family originated on Earth and the winter celebration held great sentimental value to them at one time.”

“Your mother’s Human?” Kirk blurted.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Kirk said, blinking uncertainly.  "All the more reason you need to pony up, then.  In all the years she’s been sending you presents she must have given you at least one you found useful.  What was it?”

Spock’s eyes moved back to him, fathomless brown eyes spearing him with intense curiosity.  Kirk caught his breath as that piercing gaze stole the air right from his lungs.  He took an involuntary step toward the Vulcan before forcing himself to stop, standing completely still.  Spock, far from appearing alarmed at the sudden proximity, took a single step closer to Kirk in turn, until they were near enough they were almost breathing each other’s air.  Tension sparked between them, crackling like electricity.  Kirk took a long, deep breath, wondering if that faint herbal smell was some sort of soap, or if the Vulcan just exuded it naturally.

He felt almost as though he were watching himself through a distorted mirror as he raised a hand.  He observed it approach Spock’s face, the Vulcan leaning forward in – could that be encouragement –

“Oh, sorry!”

The sudden knock from behind forced him forward, and Kirk belatedly found himself not so much touching Spock as clutching at him for support, their bodies flush against one another.  A blush – an actual frigging _blush,_ when was the last time he'd ever blushed, he'd been maybe five years old? – stained Kirk’s cheeks.  He stared into the brown eyes glittering at him, noting almost as an afterthought the startling heat seeping from beneath Spock’s clothes to radiate up into Kirk’s fingertips where they curled around bony shoulders.

“Spock,” he said hoarsely, but that was all he managed to get out.

“Sorry,” a voice repeated behind him, and Kirk recalled with a rush of clarity that they were standing in the middle of a busy shopping center.  He disengaged from the near-embrace at nearly the same moment Spock did.

He cleared his throat. “No problem,” he muttered at the person hovering at his back and with a sheepish little wave the woman continued on down the aisle, disappearing from sight a moment later.

A long, awkward silence stretched between them before Kirk managed to quirk a small grin in the Vulcan’s direction.

“I’d apologize for making you uncomfortable,” Kirk said quietly, honestly, intently. “But I don’t think I did.  And I don’t think you’d hesitate to tell me if that wasn’t the case.”

The Vulcan said nothing, which was in and of itself a glaring confirmation.  Kirk looked away, releasing a pent up huff of air on a sigh.

“Right," he said finally.

Quiet reigned but it was a strained one this time; it counted as one of the first true moments of discomfort between them.

“Socks,” Spock said abruptly, apropos of nothing.

“What?”

“The most functional item my mother ever gave me. I have utilized them approximately forty-seven-point-six percent more often than any other item she has sent me in years past.”

“Yeah,” Kirk said, “but that’s because they’re _socks_.”

“Precisely.”

Kirk stared at him, and he could feel the grin tugging at the corners of his lips.  He let it slide out slowly until Spock dropped his eyes to watch it unfold.  Kirk laughed softly, amusement and anticipation a quiet song inside him.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Socks it is.  And a long-distance com message, by the way."

 “I beg your pardon?”

“For your mother.  If you’re not going to see her this year, you should arrange for a video conference in one of the long-range communication labs.  There’s probably nothing else you could get her that’d mean more to her than that.”

Spock regarded him with surprise and faint suspicion – Kirk was getting better every time they ran into each other at reading the subtle cues of the Vulcan’s expression. “You have personally utilized this option?”

“Yep.  Twice, actually, and both times worked like a charm.  Get her something else if you have to, but nothing beats a surprise call home when you can’t make it in person.  Mom’s are sentimental like that.”

“I shall take your suggestion under advisement,” Spock said, which was about the same thing as agreeing on the spot to have it done.

“Good,” Kirk said, and when they parted ways several minutes later he had to ruefully revise his opinion about Christmas shopping.  It might be a little bit hellish, but it was also capable of providing a few pleasant surprises that made up for the fuss.

He bought four pairs of socks for Sam, and three more for Bones. At the very least this was one gift that wouldn’t end up in the trash.

~*~*~*~

“C’mon, Bones,” Kirk coaxed, trailing after his friend as they both shoved their way through the crowded Academy corridors.  All standard classes were officially over as of 1500 hours that afternoon, with finals upcoming, and the cadets were swarming through the hallways as people moved to and from transporter pads or the outlying shuttle bays, many heading out for their holiday plans.  Kirk wouldn't have that same freedom for some time yet.

“You know I’m stuck here until exams finish up, the least you could do is acknowledge my misery by joining me in a single night on the town - yeah, yeah, sans alcohol and women, I know.”

“Jim, you know I can’t," McCoy said, squeezing past two enormous Edosians whose limbs took up half the corridor.  "Joanna's due in an hour at the Atlanta transporter terminal and I have to be there.  You’re just going to have to suffer through finals on your own.”

Kirk scowled at the vague injustice of it all before laughing ruefully and clapping his friend on the back. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Bones.  How old is she these days?  Six going on sixty?”

“Something like that.  I think she’s still planning on becoming a doctor like her old man, but if she’s told her mother that dream's probably in the 'fresher by now.”

“Put me on next time she com’s you and I’ll tell her all about your doctoral virtues.  I’ll start with your incredible beside manner, especially when applying hangover remedies."

McCoy muttered something under his breath that Kirk pretended not to hear.

“When are you heading out then, Jim?” McCoy asked as they rounded the corner into the commissary.

“Sam won’t be on Earth for another two weeks, and finals carry me through to the end, so I won’t be leaving until – _oomph_!”

The collision wasn’t exactly unexpected but this was starting to become something of a habit.  He was really starting to hate the crowds these days.  It knocked him back a pace and only automatic reflexes kept the other person from toppling over backwards.

“Sorry about that,” Kirk said automatically, steadying them both until they didn’t seem in imminent danger of collapse. “It’s madness out here.”

“You!” a familiar feminine voice snarled.

“You!” Kirk crowed, delighted. “Uhura, I didn’t know you were still in town or I’d have tracked you down before this.  Have you considered what you’ll be getting me for Christmas yet?”

McCoy cleared his throat warningly beside him but Kirk waved him off.   _No flirting, yeah, yeah._ He’d just keep it light and annoying.  Uhura could never be accused of falling under the spell of his flattery anyway (what was it with people being immune to his charm these days?).  But her irritation was almost as entertaining as anyone else's swooning.

“A lump of coal,” she said cuttingly, with a thin little smile that had death and humiliation written firmly in it somewhere.

“I was thinking of something a little more fashionable,” Kirk said, releasing her when she stepped back out of his reach. “You know, like a sweater, or maybe a first name to go with your last.”

“Two lumps of coal,” she amended, craning her neck in an obvious bid for a way around him which Kirk did absolutely nothing to provide. “Do you mind, Kirk? We're just on our way to the long-range sensor lab.”

“We?” Kirk echoed, pivoting to glance with curiosity at the person with her.

“Spock!” he said in surprise and genuine pleasure. “Hello again!  How’re you doing?”

“Greetings,” the Vulcan intoned, tilting his head in quiet acknowledgement. “I am well, thank you.  May I also inquire as to your health?”

“You may,” Kirk said, grinning broadly.  The memory of the Vulcan's heat seeping into his fingers was a potent flicker in his thoughts.  “I’m great.  I was just harassing Bones here about his holiday plans, of which he has many and I have few.”

“You know each other?” Uhura interrupted, looking somewhere between curious and appalled. Kirk saw the conflict and turned up the wattage of his smile and shifted the beam in her direction.

“We had lunch,” Kirk said.  "We discussed the merits of interspecies physical contact in the context of xenobiology and xenobiochemistry.  Isn't that right, Spock?"

"That is not entirely accurate," Spock said.

"Not _entirely_ ," Kirk agreed slyly.

Uhura opened her mouth and then closed it with an outraged look.  Kirk glanced at the Vulcan regarding them both with what he could swear was amusement, the dark eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. Kirk felt unaccountably pleased by this whole encounter and he winked in the other man’s direction conspiratorially.  McCoy broke in irritably.

“I’ve got to get going.  Jim, if you’re that bored, the commander probably wouldn’t mind you tagging along to the sensor lab with them – it’s an absolute _riot_ of fun in there and I’m sure they can find you something to do.”

McCoy knew Kirk found the sensor lab about as exciting as watching Regulan bloodworms sleep.  He bared his teeth at the good doctor and had opened his mouth to retort when Uhura’s derisive chuckle caught his attention. He turned to scowl at her and decided – why not? He certainly had nothing else pressing to do today.

“Sounds good,” he said brightly, and had to fight back a smirk when that drew a look of horror from McCoy and Uhura both. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at the reference and it was either laugh or play it up, so Kirk bumped his shoulder into the Vulcan’s in companionable amusement.  He ignored Uhura's affronted gasp as he turned to follow the two of them on their way, waving over his shoulder at his departing friend.

By the end of the afternoon Kirk thought he might have achieved some sort of world record for most obnoxious asshole with witty rejoinders in a two-hour block –  the mark was thirty-seven by his count and rising.  Uhura hadn’t been pleased at his presence, her chilly attitude made that apparent, but Kirk didn't like to be denied things.  It was a battle of wills and wits between them, and always had been.

He also got the distinct impression she’d wanted to work alone with Spock, which, perversely, made Kirk even more determined to stay.  It was something like disturbing an angry cobra, he reasoned, and he noted her winding higher and higher the longer he loitered about making a nuisance of himself.  To Spock, Kirk was nothing but unfailingly polite, and the Vulcan's manners were of course without flaw.  In fact, Spock watched the two of them face off with the air of a man analyzing the puzzling behavior of native life forms who refused to act in a logical manner.

“But what’s the point of a specialization in linguistics when the universal translator can successfully interpret verbal input without assistance?” Kirk asked.  The argument was facetious; any commander had to know the danger of relying solely on technology in first contact situations, where even universal translators had been known to fail.  Uhura was the best and brightest in her field and the entire Academy probably knew it.  If Kirk ever landed a ship of his own he knew who he'd be requesting as his communications officer - not that she'd be likely to accept.  Uhura had Kirk pegged as a primate of the lowest order and refused to be convinced otherwise, not that he'd ever tried that hard to dissuade her.  It wasn't the first time Kirk had been compared to scum based on a first impression and it probably wouldn't be the last.  But thankfully there was always fun to be had with a mind-set like that. 

“And where do you think the linguacode translation matrix for the universal translator came from?” Uhura asked through gritted teeth. “Thin air?”

“Didn’t it?” Kirk asked in surprise, adding a particularly dull wrinkle to his forehead for effect.

“You can’t possibly be this stupid,” Uhura said, looking ready to tear her hair out.  "But I don’t care even if you are.  All I know is that if you ever manage to graduate from the command program, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I serve aboard any ship with you even _near_ the captain’s seat.”

“I’ll remember to request you specifically,” Kirk promised, and meant it.

“That’s it!” she said, throwing her hands into the air in a clear sign of surrender and Kirk tried his best not to laugh, but it was a near thing. “I’m calling it a night; you can stay or go as you please – I know you will anyway.”

She visibly calmed herself as she turned to regard the Vulcan who was still watching them as any scientist might who witnessed a time-sensitive experiment gone completely wrong.

“Commander,” she said, through meditative breaths probably designed to reduce stress in the midst of combat scenarios aboard a starship.  Kirk was flattered he could drive her to such lengths. “I think I’ve finished all the work I’m going to get done today.  Would you care to review the research we’ve completed over dinner in the commissary?”

“I’ll come too!” Kirk said brightly, hopping down from the sensor panel he’d been casually perched on.

“No!” she barked, at the same time Spock bowed his head in apparent regret, saying, “Thank you for the invitation, Cadet, but I have no need of nutritional intake at this time. You may send me a private communication summarizing any additional notes you wish to discuss at the next available meeting.”

Uhura shot Kirk a look, as though Spock’s response was entirely his fault, and he raised both hands in the air.  'Who, me?’  With a growl, she turned smartly on her heel and disappeared through the automatic doors, her ponytail trailing after her.  Kirk was surprised to note it was as straight and smooth as ever; he'd thought for sure he’d been annoying enough to frazzle that bit too.  He’d have to try harder next time.

Kirk waited until he was absolutely sure there was no way Uhura was going to change her mind before he let himself start laughing, howling in mirth until he nearly tipped over he was so desperate for breath.  God, he hadn’t had that much fun in ages, especially sober.  He really needed to spend more time around that woman.  She was passion and fire and an inborn confidence that spoke well of the incredible career ahead of her and probably meant he'd have to climb mountains and save entire star systems before she ever even considered she might be wrong about him.  Not that he was helping his case by being, well, as ass.  But.  He really couldn't help himself.

“I will assume,” Spock said, after several moments of hilarity had passed, “that you are perfectly aware of the origins of the linguacode translation matrix?”

“Oh, hell yes,” Kirk said, another round of laughter taking hold as he remembered her reaction. “And yeah, I mean, there is a _damn_ good reason communications is still a full department aboard all constitution class starships today.  But no way I was going to tell _her_ that – I mean, did you see the look on her _face_?”

“I did,” the Vulcan confirmed in a low, disapproving voice that quieted Kirk’s humor into only the occasional chuckle. “And yet I fail to see the purpose behind your deliberate provocation of Cadet Uhura.”

Kirk shrugged, sprawling boneless against the wall, satisfied on so many different levels he didn’t even want to count them. “I was only living down to her expectations.  Not my fault she has preconceived notions about my intelligence.  Although I do help her along with that from time to time."

He smiled in contentment at the Vulcan and watched as a curious expression flitted briefly over that stoic face.  Dark eyes cut from his shoulders down to his feet and then quickly back up again and Spock was already speaking by the time Kirk realized he’d just been given a very quick and very thorough once-over.

“May I inquire as to the basis for Cadet Uhura’s negative assumptions?  It appeared to stem from more than merely today’s encounter.”

Kirk didn’t say anything for a long moment, the smile wiped off his face as surprise – and then surprised pleasure – stole through him.  Since running into the man at the Golden Gate their frequent brief encounters in the corridors had returned to a casual run-of-the-mill variety, neither distant nor overly familiar.  Kirk had even thought he might have imagined the whole thing, though it was hard to believe he could have mistaken that sharp intensity he remembered as anything other than what it was.  But this was the first piece of proof he hadn't dreamed it all up those weeks ago.

He had no idea what it meant that a Vulcan – particularly a male Vulcan, of whom even less was known romantically than female ones – seemed to find him attractive on at least some level.  What he did know was that regardless of what it meant, the thought of this man even remotely interested in Kirk for more than professional reasons was quite enough to send a tremor of arousal arrowing straight to Kirk’s cock. He told it to shut up, but it was too late by then; he crossed his ankles as casually as he could and put both hands in his pockets before the Vulcan could notice.

“You’re right,” he said, tuning back into the conversation. “There’s a bit of a story behind that.  Uhura and I have something of a history.”

“Clarify.”

“Hmm,” Kirk drawled, meeting those unreadable eyes with his own.  He grinned, let his eyes haze with pleasure, made his stance inviting. He realized on some level he was borrowing from forbidden behavior, but Bones didn't need to know, and Spock was certainly no woman.  “Maybe I could tell you about it over dinner?”

“As I informed Cadet Uhura, I do not require nourishment at this time,” Spock said, in what Kirk judged to be a true tone of regret.  He shrugged, rolling his shoulders easily.

"Requiring nourishment isn’t always the only reason to participate in a meal.”

“On Vulcan it is,” Spock said.

“Hate to break this to you, Spock, but you’re not on Vulcan anymore.  You’re on Earth, and here we pretty much have dinner with whomever we please, whenever we please.”

He smiled sharply, sensing a logical weakness and aiming for it with true command ruthlessness. “You might even call these little dinner dates something of a cultural ritual, a rite of passage amongst us Earthlings.  You wouldn’t want to stomp all over my cultural ritual, would you?”

Spock studied him a moment, hands clasped loosely behind his back, then bowed his head once in intrigued acquiescence.

Kirk clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly, and considered that they’d better avoid the commissary just in case Uhura was in there.  She might actually tear him apart with her bare hands if they made an appearance together right now, and that woman could be truly scary when she really got going.

“Onward, Jeeves!” he said, leading the way out of the sensor lab. “Do you know who Jeeves was?  I like the old Earth histories, you know, and there was this book - anyway, remind me to tell you another time.  Okay, so, this thing with Uhura and I started a few years back.  I was younger then – immature; a little unfocussed, you know?  Nothing at all like I am now, obviously…”

~*~*~*~

Finals came and went, and came and went, and repeated that cycle endlessly through December.  Kirk was reasonably sure he'd aced everything except possibly his forth level exochemistry.  The instructor in that course was a Caitian who had basically no sense of humor and no understanding of why his students might not be able to decipher a complicated chemical formula without simply reading the datapad instructions 'from lines one-hundred-sixty-two onward'.  His test reflected that same attitude and it had not been pretty for anyone.

On the other hand, Kirk _had_ managed to impress his tactical analysis instructor, who was notoriously difficult to impress and who also had no sense of humor aside from an ironically styled crop of hair that made him look like he'd accidentally brushed only one side of it each morning.  Kirk had spent the entire semester heroically refraining from telling him that.

The conclusion of finals left Kirk at an exhausted loose ends.  He spent most of the morning sleeping, catching up on some rest while he had the chance and determinedly _not studying anymore_.  So he didn’t even realize it was snowing until he marched into the main courtyard and inhaled a flurry of snowflakes on a yawn.

“What the hell,” he said, immediately retreating back into the warm confines of the Academy corridor.  He peered out at the miniature snow storm outside and then down at his own thin, Starfleet regulation black boots.  Well, there was no way he was wasting a grand opportunity like this, and it was with a childlike sense of joy that Kirk scrambled back to his quarters to find warmer winter wear and a far tougher set of boots.  He had to dig deeply into the travel case he'd packed for Iowa to find something; the Academy was the last place he would have expected snow, but clearly someone had decided to celebrate the holidays in style.  The only way to guarantee snow on these ground was if someone had tampered with the artificial weather grid, and it wouldn't be long before the system was reset and put to rights.  Best to make the most of this.

He wasn’t the only one enjoying the unexpected windfall, he noticed.  More than a few cadets were busy rolling the gently falling flakes into mid-sized boulders and stacking them atop one another, until the entire courtyard was littered with all manner of sculpted figurines, some more artistically accurate than others.

“Hey!” Kirk called, spying several familiar faces. “Finney!  Would you look at this?  Did you have a hand in sabotaging the weather grid or what?”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Kirk,” Ben Finney admonished with a conspiratorial grin, tossing a poorly made snowball in his direction which Kirk neatly sidestepped. “Enjoy it while it lasts, because it’ll probably be gone tomorrow.  Bizarre, huh?”

“Just a little,” Kirk laughed, reaching down to pack a snowball of his own. “I was expecting this at home, not here!  Hey, how about a game?  Tag?  No, I know, let's do capture the flag!  Each snowball strike can be a ten second out.”

Finney conferred with the two people next to him, only one of whom Kirk recognized: Stephen Garrovick, one of the former command cadets, now a Lieutenant-Commander in line for promotion to operations officer aboard the USS Farragut.  He was on sabbatical and instructing next term.  Nice enough guy if gossip had any weight, but Kirk almost had to laugh at the idea of pelting snowballs at a ranking officer of a constitution class starship.  It wasn't going to make Kirk hesitate for even an instant, but it almost bordered on insubordination; which, really, only made the whole thing that much more entertaining.

“You’re on, Kirk!” Finney called, raising a fist in a premature sign of victory. “But I think Mr. Hot-Shot-Academy-Legend deserves a handicap – you'll be on your own for this war.”

“Oh, _bull_ ,” Kirk said.  He tossed the snowball and laughed as it struck Finney smack in the chest. “I get at least one partner!”

“Better find one quick then, Kirk; time’s a wastin’!” With a grin, the three co-conspirators turned their backs on him and huddled together, whispering amongst themselves while Kirk scowled at the injustice of it all.  He looked around, hoping to catch someone else he knew in the nearby vicinity, but most of the other cadets were first year, and Kirk couldn’t rightly say he knew them all that well, though a few had the shy hopeful look of people who'd heard of _him_.  Still, if it came down to a game of three-on-one, he’d rather bribe some other poor shmuck into taking the beating with him than go it alone…

That was when he spotted the black cap of distinctively cut hair moving smoothly through the abandoned corridors.  The indoor lighting gave the Vulcan a halo through the floor-to-ceiling glass looking out at the courtyard.  Spock didn't even turn to consider the phenomenon which had drawn everyone else outside; he probably thought such Human rabble illogical in the extreme and beneath him.  Kirk laughed wickedly and darted back through the automatic door, waving a hand over his shoulder when Finney yelled after him in question.

“Spock!” he said when he caught up, and he knew he must look a sight, flushed and grinning and all-over entreaty.  Spock stopped in mid-step, both eyebrows shooting up as dark eyes took in his appearance with more than a glancing touch of appreciation.

Kirk shivered, simultaneously chilled and warmed at this.  The look on Spock’s face might appear stoic to everyone else, but their short acquaintance had given Kirk enough familiarity to recognize it really wasn't.  They still had yet to talk about this thing that was growing between them, but there was something peaceful and almost sweet in their slow gravitation.  It needed few words, lacking the rush of Kirk's previous conquests but nothing so glacial that he feared the Vulcan had no interest.  Spock's interest was very, very clear, it was just - somewhat restrained.

“Spock, you’ve got to come with me,” Kirk ordered, stepping up and taking the Vulcan’s arm in hand, hauling him back toward the exit.  Spock allowed himself to be towed until the doors themselves opened and a blast of cold air hit them both smack in the face, and then Kirk found himself pulled off his feet as the Vulcan stopped abruptly, his greater strength easily overcoming Kirk’s puny efforts.

“Is there some emergency that requires my presence?” Spock asked, glancing disdainfully outside at the snowflakes making little flurries in the air.

“You could say that,” Kirk said, with a sly smile. “My pride is about to suffer a mortal blow if you don’t help me out here.”

“I am certain your pride is sufficient to survive whatever manner of attack it might encounter,” the other man assured him dryly.

Kirk laughed, almost involuntarily, tightening his clasp on Spock’s arm in fond exasperation.  It was a little disconcerting how quickly he’d taken to the Vulcan after only a few short conversations – but oh, what fascinating conversations they’d been.  He wondered - hoped - Spock found himself similarly affected.

“Maybe so,” Kirk said.  "But it wouldn't suffer at all if you’d only lend me a hand.”

“What is the nature of the assistance you require?”

“Well, see, we're going to do an impromptu war game – have you ever heard of ‘capture the flag’?”

“I have not.”

“Competitive team event with two bases of operation.  Each team hides an item in their base, usually a piece of cloth or some article of clothing, and the game ends when one team manages to remove the opposing team's item and return it to their own base without being tagged out in the meantime.”

“And how is one ‘tagged out’?” Spock asked, peering suspiciously at the weather outside as though secretly dreading that he knew the answer.  Kirk carefully did not smile.

“Well, we’re making do with what’s available at the moment, so if any of the participants are struck with a snowball – snow packed into a projectile, used to temporarily incapacitate opponents – head shots generally not permitted – they experience a ten second time out where they’re excluded from game play.”

“And you wish me to participate in this – game?” Spock asked, looking about as enthused as any Vulcan might at the prospect.

“Yep,” Kirk confirmed, tugging him towards the doors once more. “Come save my bacon, Spock.  I’m sure between the two of us we can come up with some formidable techniques for a snow fort.  Snow's tricky, you know; consistency changes depending on how it's packed and the ratio of water to temperature.  You never really know how it's going to go until you get right in there.”

This more than anything seemed to intrigue the Vulcan, as Kirk had known it would.  But he eventually shook his head – regretfully, Kirk was disappointed to see.

“I do not believe I can participate in this exercise, Jim,” Spock said. “I have no protective clothing of sufficient thickness to ward off the low temperatures outside for any extended period.”

“I have extra layers back in my cabin; it gets cold out in Iowa.  If that’s your only objection, I’ll grab those right now, no problem.”

Spock thought for a moment. “Were I to participate, I would insist on maintaining a minor role only.  My rank and position as an Academy instructor are likely to lend our team an unanticipated psychological advantage.”

“Not really unanticipated.  I’m sort of counting on it,” Kirk said, gesturing at the three people they could see trudging across the courtyard, already piling snow in the first wall of their fort. “Besides, see the tall one over there, with the dark hair?  That’s Stephen Garrovick.  He’s a Lieutenant-Commander aboard the Farragut and he'll be teaching too next term.  Technically you’d be in pretty good company if you joined us.”

“Fascinating,” Spock said, peering with narrowed eyes at the white-washed landscape.

“So you’ll do it?” Kirk pressed, beginning to edge down the corridor hopefully.

“Affirmative.  I will, however, continue to insist on a relatively minor role, in the interests of fairness.”

“I can live with that,” Kirk grinned, huffing in exhilaration. “Wait here, I’ll be right back with double layers for you.”

He glanced back just once to see whether Spock had simply been humoring him (which didn’t seem likely, since he was, well, a Vulcan), but the other man did not look dismayed, far from it. He appeared to be studying the snow outside and the ground to which it was falling.  Kirk laughed to realize the man was probably calculating the best possible methods of construction, vectors of attack, most defensible positions to launch their assault. 

Oh, this was going to be fun.

And it certainly was.  Finney and the others had been quite intimidated at the sight of Commander Spock and their wary dismay had been gratifying.  Kirk tried his best to pay attention, though he was more than a little distracted throughout the whole thing – he’d brought ear muffs for Spock’s delicate pointy appendages, and the very tips were still exposed. They got greener the longer the two of them labored at their fort, and more than once Kirk was tempted to cover them with his hands to warm them up.  He sternly reminded himself they had a war to win, and set himself to do so with brutal intensity – which worked fairly well, as Spock seemed to dedicate brutal intensity to basically everything he did, including kicking their opponents’ asses in an absolutely hilarious game of capture the flag.

They won, of course. How could they not, when Spock put that fearsome scientific brain of his to good use?  He actually fashioned an on-the-spot system of snow-bricks and snow-supports for their little fort, which Kirk quickly named, gouging out the words 'Academy Hotshots' on the front.

It probably also helped that Finney and his teammates seemed just a little bit hesitant to tag out Spock, who had no similar scruples.  It was a little scary how economical Spock was with his snowballs, loosing only those sure to hit his targets with deadly accuracy.  Kirk had prudently assigned him as defense only in accordance with Spock's expectation of a minor role.  Kirk, in contrast to the other man's sparing efficiency, stacked mountains of pre-prepared snowballs and let them all fly the minute anyone twitched from behind Finney’s fort.  He went on berserker attacks every few minutes and spent a lot of time tagged out while Spock looked on disapprovingly from his own position of safety.  At the end of the game, triumphantly hefting the single red mitten (split from the pair they were using as ‘flags’) Kirk found himself soaked to the bone and far too happy to care about it.

“Next time I guess I really will have to give you a three-to-one handicap!” Kirk called to the only visible enemy in sight, Garrovick, and the man grinned at him with good humor from where he sprawled on the ground.  Beyond him, his two teammates groaned sourly, Finney flopping dramatically on his back into the snow.

“No fair, Kirk!” Finney said as he stood up, brushing snow off his clothes and shaking like a dog to remove the remaining powder. “You cheated.  You brought in a ringer!”

Kirk laughed, waving the red mitten at Spock, who stepped from behind their secure little snow-barricade and began to walk placidly towards them. “C’mon, Spock, time to head inside before we all freeze to death.  You’re looking a little green around the gills, you know – thankfully that can be explained by the composition of your blood, or I’d be tempted to rush you to Medical.”

“I have not yet reached the point of actual discomfort,” Spock said, stepping blithely over Garrovick on his way to Kirk. “Although I do believe it would be best if we returned to the warmer interior of the Academy, before the effects of the cold become more noticeable.”

“Hey, we won; I’m happy to head inside now.  Do you like apple cider, Spock?  I think I owe you a drink, at least, for saving my butt.  The food processors this time of year do a really great apple cider.”

"I generally prefer tea as a hot beverage, but I am not averse to sampling an apple cider.”

“Done!” Kirk said, clapping him companionably on the shoulder and dragging him toward the Academy doors.  “Come on then, let’s go!”

Once inside it became obvious that while Spock may not have reached the point of ‘actual discomfort’, he also wasn’t entirely unmoved by the cold.  His hands, which had been wrapped in two layers of gloves, were more than a little green and Kirk chafed one anxiously as they headed for the commissary.

“Are you all right?” he asked, worried.  A faint stab of guilt struck at Kirk, which he firmly pushed away.  He felt certain Spock had enjoyed their mock war-game, in as much as a Vulcan enjoyed anything, and he’d agreed to participate without much prompting.  There was nothing to feel guilty for.

Spock allowed the touch for a moment and then swiftly drew the hand away, placing it resolutely behind his back.  Surprised, Kirk glanced at him, arrested at the look he found on his normally placid face.  It was like a proverbial kick to the gut to see desire staring back at him with hungry intensity from skin already flushed green with the cold – now flushed, Kirk could tell, from something quite different.

They’d both stopped walking, and there wasn’t another soul in sight.  Kirk waited two long, hard beats of his heart before reaching for Spock’s other hand without once taking his eyes from the image of lust on that fine-boned face.

Spock had plenty of opportunity to pull away.  He didn’t, and it was with a feeling of inevitability that Kirk slid his fingers in a sensual spiral down the long, cold ones of his companion, pressing it slowly between both of his.  It couldn’t be doing them that much good, he thought vaguely.  His own fingers were at least as cold as Spock’s.  A frisson of emotion, surprising and wild, leapt to Kirk, and it was only startling for the fact that it wasn’t his.

“Spock?” He murmured, tracing the swirls of their fingerprints together. “What is that?”

“A loss of control,” Spock said, his skin shuddering faintly as Kirk teased his fingers along the curve of his thumb, across the calluses on his palm, back up to the tips of his fingers.

At his words, Kirk paused, hesitating. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked, without letting go of his prize.

“I do not know,” Spock said, and regarded their joined hands for a moment of perfect contemplation before raising his gaze to stare directly into Kirk’s. “And, illogically, I find that I do not care.”

And then Kirk could only watch as the Vulcan leaned forward in an unmistakable move to kiss him.  It would have happened, too – if not for Ben Finney.

Finney, who came barreling down the corridor not a half a second later, with just enough noise announcing his presence that Kirk and Spock both had the opportunity to take one step back.  It took an act of iron will for Kirk to release the man's hand.

“Kirk!” Finney said, skidding to a stop next to them. “We’re taking you up on that extra handicap.  The snow’s started to slow down and we probably won’t get any more in these parts for years.  C'mon back for a re-match while we still have time.”

Kirk quirked a grin at Spock, hiding the tingling tips of his fingers just inside his coat pockets.  He was aware on some level of Finney waiting impatiently at his side but he found he really could not remove his eyes from Spock, standing so still before him.

Desire had raged across that face a moment ago, desire so strong it had actually broken down rigid Vulcan control to make an appearance.  And Kirk hadn’t realized quite how far Spock had allowed him inside his defenses until just now, because looking into Spock's face there seemed to be absolutely no sign the man had ever been affected at all.

“A re-match sounds great, Ben,” Kirk said, staring.  “I need to cool off anyway.  Rain check on that apple cider, Spock?”

“Very well,” the Vulcan agreed, without even a hint of inflection in his voice. “Whenever it is convenient.”

“Yeah,” Kirk said softly. “Convenient.”

But if there was one thing this encounter had taught Kirk, it was that there was nothing at all convenient going on here.

He lost the re-match, but consoled himself that it was at least half due to the fact that he was so distracted he collapsed his own fort three times running and could barely focus well enough to stack snowballs let alone take out the three ruthless maniacs determined to bury him.


	3. Chapter 3

Kirk spent the final days leading into winter break lost to a sea of course planning and sombre inner reflection.  It was as though meeting Spock had opened his eyes to qualities in his life he hadn’t even been aware of wanting: a challenge; an intellectual equal (or superior); a day-to-day companion.  Someone who was worth more than a momentary tumble in bed; someone who could be a friend, but who appealed to Kirk on far more carnal levels than friendship could explain.  He didn’t think he’d ever had a friend who was also a lover, or vice-versa.

He hadn’t come to any conclusions by the time late December rolled around.  He also hadn’t seen Spock for more than a few consecutive minutes at a time.  Finals might be finished but Kirk was already hard at work preparing for next semester, and as an instructor Spock's schedule was always consistently busy.  The most significant encounter they had was when they ran into each other early mid-week, not ten minutes after Kirk had completed the prerequisite obstacle course for Advanced Combat Training (level four) - he hadn’t been a pretty sight by any stretch of the imagination and Spock had seemed inordinately concerned at the various bumps, abrasions, and contusions peppering Kirk.  He’d insisted that Kirk submit to a medical exam, which Kirk had allowed with ill grace. 

Kirk glared as he sat on the biobed.  The medical staff had taken one look at his sour face and after determining his injuries were minor had promptly found other patients to deal with on a more urgent basis.  Kirk tried to remind himself he used to be a champion flirt and any nurse would normally be happy to attend to him.  But he figured he really ought not to be flirting anyway, and in any case he seemed to only have eyes for one person these days.

"You know, I'm not exactly some delicate wallflower," Kirk grumbled.

"I had not assumed you to be any type of flora or fauna," Spock reassured him.

"'That which we call a rose by any other name,'" Kirk quoted idly.

"Romeo and Juliet, act two, scene two," Spock said.

"You a literature fan, Spock?"

"I have familiarized myself with most of Earth's notable literary works, both early and contemporary.  There was an author born in the twenty-second century who considered himself a reasonable facsimile of the original William Shakespeare, although his prose lacked some of the more esoteric language that fifteenth-century Earth utilized -"

"Yeah, okay," Kirk said.  "So you can quote it.  But do you _like_ it?"

Spock was quiet a moment and the gentle beeps and alerts of the bioscanners at work filled the space between them.

"I find literature a very honest medium," Spock said finally.  "It captures a glimpse into the culture and values of a world at one particular moment in time."

"Like history given life," Kirk said softly.

"Indeed.  Perhaps it is accurate to say literature gives context to history in a way recorded fact alone could not convey."

"Why, Spock," Kirk said slyly.  "That was almost poetic of you.  Do Vulcans have poetry?"

"Not as Humans would define poetry.  Some of the historic foundations of my world might be considered thematically poetic; the origin of Vulcan mythology, the tale of _Sha Ka Ree_.  But the literature of my planet would be considered by most Humans quite dull."

"Not really," Kirk said.  "Most of the pre-Surak writings paint a very interesting picture.  I'm sure you guys don't exactly advertise that, though.  Not great for your logical image."

"Fascinating.  How did you come to read pre-Surak writings?"

"I'm clever and I cheat," Kirk said.  "And maybe you'd like to see my book collection sometime."

"Perhaps," Spock said, and then looked away, the silent pleasure in his eyes shuttering into uncertain silence as a nurse came back into the room to subject Kirk to a dermal regenerator and a lecture.  Kirk found himself missing McCoy fiercely in that moment and tried not to be glum at the mixed signals Spock kept sending.

He and Spock parted thirty minutes later after taking the conversation to a safer track.  Spock always had interesting questions to ask about Kirk's course load, but that was the first time Kirk realized this was because Spock had been one of the founding designers of the compressed Academy course load and had originally taken it himself, with honors.  Kirk was almost flattered to realize Spock asked after Kirk not because he was skeptical the Human could follow this path to completion, but rather because the Vulcan was impressed that he would try.

Spock may or may not have been equally as flattered to know that Kirk’s formidable skills were put sorely to the test when he decided to pit them against the Vulcan in question.  Breaking into the private quarters of his friend had seemed like a grand idea at the time, but Kirk had rapidly discovered that there was a good reason Spock was heralded as a genius.  It took him almost two whole hours just to find the right numerical algorithm to deactivate the security locks on the man’s door, and another two to input the correct subroutine allowing him to bypass the biometric scanner.

And all this to drop off one silly Christmas present in secret.  Goodness, the lengths Kirk found himself going to for this man.

Kirk hesitated once inside the doorway, drawn involuntarily to look at the incredible room around him.  He'd made a stern pact with himself before he'd decided to do this that he wouldn't do more to invade his new friend's privacy than simply glance through the door, but Spock's quarters looked absolutely fascinating.  Kirk glanced around greedily, eyes catching on several Vulcan artifacts his fingertips were almost itching to explore.

But, no.  He might be a bit of a trickster but he was better than his baser instincts, no matter how loudly they were demanding he give into his curiosity and start rifling through things that weren't his to rifle through.

With a grin he crouched down, settling a parcel at the foot of the door, turning it until the carefully scripted ‘From Santa’ tag was clearly visible at first glance.  Inside was one of the pairs of socks that had been intended for McCoy, but which Kirk thought would do far more good here, and a single scarlet mitten, very close in appearance to the ones they’d used some days back as 'flags'.  He spent a few moments fluffing the tissue and changing the parcel's position until he was satisfied.  Then he stood, rocking back on his heels and admiring his handiwork with smug contentment.  He took one last wistful look around before regretfully deciding that he couldn’t justify delaying any longer.  He stepped back to let the door swish shut on Spock’s quarters with finality.

Still unresolved about the whole mess between them but particularly pleased with at least this portion of it, he turned to head back to his own room.

"Um," he said stupidly, and then floundered.

Spock blinked back at him slowly, perhaps trying to confirm with more than one glance that yes, Kirk was actually standing just in front and slightly to the left of his quarters, having exited them not a moment ago.  Which should technically be impossible but very obviously - wasn’t.

"This isn’t what it looks like," Kirk told him blankly.

"You are not leaving an unidentified item approximately forty-one-point-two centimeters inside the doorway of my quarters, in what appears to be an ironic reflection of our conversation sixteen days ago regarding the myth of Santa Claus?"

"Oh," Kirk said.  "Well, I guess if that’s what you saw then yeah, it’s basically exactly what it looks like."

"Ah," Spock replied.

"Ah," Kirk agreed.

They stared at each other in strained silence for a moment, and Kirk was the first to break.

"I didn’t go in," he assured Spock.  "I barely moved my smallest toe over the threshold.  I just wanted to leave it where you could see, and the whole point was to be all sneaky about it.  Uh, it says it’s from Santa, by the way, and I think for the sake of all my hard work that you should just take that at face value.  So, you know, this really isn’t as bad as it seems."

Spock tilted his head, regarding him with a complete lack of expression.  

"I had already surmised as much.  I was alerted to the security breach seven-point-two minutes ago, immediately after you bypassed the biometric scan on the entrance panel.  I have several concurrent alarms in place in case anyone should attempt to enter my quarters without permission."

"Oh," Kirk replied dumbly, thinking he certainly should have known that, but maybe it was better this way anyway.  All’s well that ends well, and so on.  "Guess it’s a good thing you weren’t on duty for any exams in the lecture halls then."

"Indeed."

The Vulcan paused, seeming to consider how to phrase the next part, and Kirk’s gut clenched in unexpected dread.  "While I appreciate the intentions behind your gesture, I believe in future it would be best if you did not attempt to circumvent my private security measures."

"Oh, of course," Kirk agreed hurriedly, relief mingling with guilt. "I didn’t mean to - you know - step on your toes or anything."

"Not at all.  A Vulcan’s privacy is merely of more cultural significance than it is among Humans.  In future it may simply be more efficacious to ask."

"The whole point was not asking," Kirk noted, crowing on the inside at the fact that at least they still _had_ a future of some kind.

"I see."

"But I won’t do it again," Kirk guaranteed, straightening up so he could meet that considering gaze without flinching.  "Next time I’ll just give you your gift in person.  How’s that?"

"I have no objections," Spock said immediately and Kirk could see a similar exhilaration, quickly suppressed, as those magic words wound tightly between them: next time.

"Well," Kirk said, tapping his toe on the floor awkwardly before realizing it made him look like some sappy teenager and forcing himself to stop.  "In the interests of full disclosure, I hope you decide to use Santa’s gift at least as often as forty-seven percent above and beyond the rest of your gifts."

"Ah," Spock murmured, a welcome twinkle appearing in his fathomless eyes. "I shall be certain to do so."

"I need to head out and pack for tomorrow," Kirk said quietly, hovering between the need to push the envelope and the need to maintain the acceptable status quo they had going.  "I might not see you before then, so if I don’t – happy holidays, Spock." He waited, half of him hoping the Vulcan would cross that invisible line he himself seemed incapable of disregarding.  It was one thing to push at boundaries in the absence of Spock’s actual person, but it was quite another thing to do it with the Vulcan staring at him from a mere arm’s length away.

"If you are to visit your family, we may not encounter one another until the new year," Spock said quietly. "So I will wish you happy holidays as well."

"Thanks," Kirk said awkwardly, sorely tempted to step in and give Spock the kiss they’d missed by mere centimeters some days ago.  But it still seemed that neither one of them had any clear idea of where this was going, aside from – somewhere.

"You are welcome," Spock said, and that was the last bit of formality Kirk could force himself to endure.  He turned on his heel and marched off, heading back down the corridor for his own quarters.  Whereupon he found a small package sitting on his floor which was nearly identical to the one he’d left in Spock’s quarters.  Peering with some caution inside, he could see one single pair of socks; black, not the white he’d chosen for the Vulcan.

There was no way Spock could have beaten Kirk back here, which meant one of two things; either the Vulcan was an appalling hypocrite who lectured other people on privacy after having already violated it himself.  Or, he’d hacked into Kirk’s personal security system in less than the five minutes it had taken the Human to return here and used the Academy site-to-site transporters to beam the parcel directly into his quarters, bypassing all seven safety protocols designed specifically to prevent materialization of any unknown items into a private residence.

Probably his access as a Lieutenant-Commander and instructor had been of particular use, but it still made Kirk stare at the package from all angles for a while before he knelt down to pick it up.

Printed on the tag in perfectly cubed, neat writing, were the words: Not From Santa.

~*~*~*~

Christmas day and the five days following it were full of family and laughter, and Kirk made absolutely sure to consider the quandary of Lieutenant-Commander Spock (and his bafflingly attractive eyebrows) as little as possible for the duration.

It wasn’t even that hard, really; it had been far too long since he’d last laid eyes on his brother and he was more than happy to lose himself in fantastical retellings of Sam’s adventures on the edge of Federation space.  Their mother, Kirk knew, was just content to have them both on the same planet and under the same roof for once.  The holidays had never been her strong suit, not since the Kelvin had gone down, and that fact hadn’t been easy for Kirk to deal with, growing up.  At least Sam had been old enough to remember their father, if not the particulars.  It had taken years of sibling patience and affection for Kirk to overcome his shameful resentment of his brother having memories and moments Kirk never would.  Theirs had always been a loving family, but never an easy one.

So, while Kirk could say with complete honesty that he enjoyed his time spent in Iowa, refamiliarizing himself with all the local entertainment, frequenting his old haunts, he was also more than happy to head back to the Academy on New Year's Eve.  Back to Starfleet.  Back home.

His arrival coincided with the return of about half the Academy cadets, or so it seemed.  Trying to move through the masses was a tight fit and hazardous to one’s heath and it reminded Kirk of a similar crush of people just a few weeks ago.  He instinctively craned his neck, keeping a wary eye out for Uhura.  She hadn’t been in the best of moods with him lately, a fact for which there was absolutely no possible explanation.

The New Year’s party that night began in the early hours of the evening and spread out to encompass the entire third floor of the Academy.  It was, as always, the wildest and most extravagant collection of entertainment that cadet-limited income and creativity could buy.  Kirk had been at the heart of the party for the past two years running, but with alcohol and flirtation off the table he was forced to trudge glumly around the periphery, sipping his synthehol and glaring indignantly at the various drunken gyrations taking place in and around the open floor. 

He was tempted, sorely tempted, to throw the damned bet to the wind, but he’d come this far – mere days away from his ultimate goal – and besides, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand the smug, self-righteous smirk that was sure to cross McCoy’s face the minute he found out Kirk had crashed and burned.

Right, no way was he giving up on things now.  He downed two more counterfeit cocktails, eyeing the drinks changing hands throughout the room with a pathetic sort of envy.

Still, his determination to stay the course suffered serious threats throughout the evening.  Drunken humanoids tended to throw inhibitions out the window at the drop of a hat and Kirk had spent too long cultivating his reputation as a lady’s man to escape the madness now.  He turned down two invitations to take the party somewhere a little more private, one request for a turn around the dance floor that had nothing at all to do with dancing, one lewd proposition involving an entire tub of whipped cream, gravity cuffs, and a blindfold, and (the crème-de-la-crème of the night) one loud and completely incoherent proposal of marriage.

After escaping the first year cadet who’d loudly expressed his desire for matrimony (not just with Kirk, as it turned out, but with the entire gaggle of people who’d been standing at the bar), Kirk resigned himself to being a delicate wallflower after all and retreated to a corner where he could glare at the outside world in peace.

Well.  Relative peace.

"I believe the Human phrase is, ‘a penny for your thoughts’, Jim."

Kirk just about jumped right out of his skin, staggering to one side as he turned regard the Vulcan standing conspicuously at his shoulder.

"Holy Christ," he sputtered, barely keeping hold of his drink as it sloshed over his hand and dripped with faint accusation onto the floor.  "Bells, Spock! That’s what I should have given you: bells!"

"I believe I will find the socks eminently more practical."

"I think you just enjoy sneaking up on me," Kirk muttered to himself, just loud enough to be picked up by sensitive Vulcan hearing.  He dabbed at his hand while a vaguely awkward silence descended between them that he forced himself to break with a faint smile.  "Anyway, what are you doing in this neck of the woods?  Don’t get me wrong.  I mean, it’s not that you don’t belong at a party mostly made up of drunken shenanigans and shouting cleverly disguised as conversation but, well, you just don’t belong."

"I was invited to attend this event by several sources.  You are correct in that I would not normally frequent such a celebration; however, I was interested in observing for myself what you describe as ‘drunken shenanigans’."

"Wow, whoever invited you had some serious balls," Kirk said with a grin, laughing.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing, nothing.  How did you spend your holidays?" Kirk asked, settling comfortably against the wall behind him.

"In satisfactory research endeavors, though I must soon begin limiting the breadth and scope of my experiments.  I am nearing the end of my term at the Academy, and will join the Enterprise crew in the summer to begin my service as science officer there."

"Pike’s ship?" Kirk blurted out, stepping forward, and then apologizing as a man and a woman – obviously a little too drunk to know or care that they were in the way – stumbled into him, neatly succeeding in knocking him back into the wall on their way past, probably to begin activities best left behind closed doors.

"Captain Pike’s ship, yes," Spock corrected him, eyeing with asperity the couple who had interrupted them.

"I’ve seen some of the preliminary designs for her interior; the engineering section is _crazy_ , have you seen the multi-level - what am I saying?  Of course you have.  Well, she’s going to be amazing when they finish her up.  I hope to serve on her myself one day.  Congratulations on such a prestigious assignment," Kirk said, reaching forward unthinkingly to touch the Vulcan’s elbow.  He gave it a tiny shake, more pleased to be touching Spock through the various layers of clothing that he had any right to be. "Why don't we grab a late dinner?  You can tell me all about the particulars.  Chris Pike is an old friend."

"Indeed?" the Vulcan asked, sending an arrow of unwitting desire through Kirk as he watched that perfectly shaped eyebrow rise.  Kirk sighed, ruefully acknowledging that it was indeed possible to be turned on by a man’s eyebrows.  Vulcans, at least, had the dubious distinction of being able to say that theirs were uncommonly sexy, but still.

"Yeah," Kirk said as he put his mind back on the right track. "Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you all about how he caught me at a young, impressionable stage of my life and kicked some sense into my ass."

"While the notion of Captain Pike attempting to instill common sense into you does seem appropriate, your reputation and our brief association has made it difficult for me to believe that you were ever young and impressionable, Jim."

Kirk laughed, delighted.  He wondered fondly if Spock sometimes felt as Kirk did, that their brief association had deepened so quickly and so genuinely that it honestly didn’t feel as short-lived it really was.

"Come on, then," he said triumphantly, certain he had at least one story up his sleeve that the gossip mongers hadn’t gotten to yet.  He threw a companionable arm across the stern shoulders which beckoned him and squeezed.  He thought it said more than it didn’t that the other man didn’t pull away in spite of the public location, and considering Vulcan strength Spock was more than capable of removing Kirk's arm entirely if he’d wanted.

"Where to begin?  Well, you remember when I told you how Uhura and I met?  She wasn’t the only one I ran into that night –"

One story turned into two, turned into two more from Spock, turned into three solid hours of trading hilarious anecdotes on his part, and ‘mildly ironic’ anecdotes on the Vulcan’s part, encompassing his greater time spent among various assignments through Starfleet.  Spock seemed uncommonly open, and while pleasant, it did make Kirk wonder if he hadn’t been the only one to partake in some serious soul-searching recently.

Their open discussion even prompted Kirk to share some of the better-kept secrets of his early life, and he was in the midst of an entertaining re-enactment of one of his more daring pranks on Sam when a yawn caught him completely off-guard.

"You should have seen the look on his face; I couldn’t tell if he was ready to throw me in the river or -" he covered his mouth belatedly as the long stretch of his jaw distorted his words beyond recognition, "- or whether he appreciated the joke."

"You are fatigued," Spock noted, with what Kirk carefully identified as disappointment.  "Perhaps it would be best to retire for the evening."

"No way, it’s only –" Kirk checked the chronometer and stopped, blinking. "Er, quarter to midnight. I think this last month must have knocked my time sense askew; I’m normally much more of a night owl than this.  Sorry Spock, I didn’t mean to keep you.  You probably have classes in the morning."

"Negative.  Classes will not continue for four more days."

"Oh, right," Kirk said, sure that at some point he’d actually been aware of that.  Spock seemed to do that to him in a lot of ways – knock common sense completely out of the realm of possibility.  Kirk gathered his coffee mug to him, relishing the warmth seeping into his hands.  The out of the way café they’d found to settle into was fully automated, and only the lack of staff allowed it to remain open twenty-four/seven, which Kirk recalled was why they’d chosen it.  There was only one other occupant, an older woman paging slowly through a datapad, who was paying them absolutely no attention.

"What are you plans for your free days, then?" he asked, not ready for the night to be over just yet.

"I have not arranged anything at this time, though I have several scientific experiments in various stages that I may advance to the next phase if no other activity presents itself."

The tone was Vulcan neutral, but Kirk caught the hidden inflection in his words, the shy glance of his eyes.  Kirk could take a wild guess at some of the activities the Vulcan might be considering, and it was as this wicked thought occurred to him that Kirk abruptly realized it was more than time to take this conversation to the next level.  And he finally felt ready to push the envelope.

"Hey, Spock," Kirk said.

"Yes?"

"Want to know what I spent my holidays thinking about?"

"I would be most interested in hearing you thoughts, yes," the Vulcan said lowly.  Brown eyes glittered black at him in the low light, like a spill of ink drawing him slowly into their depths.

"Well, basically, I had a long philosophical argument with myself about the merits of trying out a long-term relationship.  I mean, I haven't been the best at them to date, you know.  But practice makes perfect, right?  You'd've been proud of me; I logic'd myself right into a corner and found myself right where I started.  With no idea what the hell I’m doing, but pretty sure that’s an okay place to be."  Kirk sipped at his coffee, content to have gotten the words out, even though they sounded corny as hell to him, and that hadn’t been improved by saying them out loud.  Man, if this was a sign of the lengths he’d be willing to go to for an actual relationship – not just a fling, which made up ninety percent of his romantic trysts so far – he wasn’t certain it was at all wise to go through with it.  But the truth was, at this point there was nothing that was going to stop him.  Well, unless Spock heard the corniness too and took off running, which _might_ put a dent in any plans he’d made.

Kirk glanced at the chronometer again, watching the time tick over to five minutes to midnight.  He looked up to study the man who was studying him in turn.

"What do you think, Spock?  Should we stop beating around the bush and give it a go?"

"My own conclusions were of a similar nature to yours," the Vulcan admitted quietly.  "Thus my answer can come as no surprise to you, Jim.  Yes."

A slow, sweet, completely involuntary smile touched Kirk’s lips.  He thought it was maybe a little ridiculous just how happy hearing that made him.

"Well," he said, "we can start by observing another very old Earth tradition in just a second or two."

An eyebrow painted a question mark for Kirk’s appreciative gaze.

"It’s customary to usher in the turn of the New Year by kissing the person nearest you at the stroke of midnight.  There’s an old superstition that if you don’t you’re doomed to a year of loneliness."

"You do not ascribe to this – superstition?" Spock asked, and Kirk wasn't quite sure what to make of the curious expression on his face.

"Nah," Kirk said, grinning.  "But I have to admit, I’ve never failed to do it anyway.  And who wants to break a winning tradition?"

"Who indeed?"

Kirk smiled, locking his eyes on the sensual mouth opposite him, and waited just long enough to hear the chronometer chime midnight before leaning forward to claim his kiss.

It was everything he could have hoped for.  Spock was no blushing virgin, and the Vulcan was more than assertive as they explored one another’s mouths with careful consideration and the slow curl of satisfied desire.  Kirk nipped along the seam of Spock’s lips, sharing small kisses with him before angling to lock them together, drinking deeply of his taste; herb and coffee, and something otherworldly.

It was the sort of flavor Kirk could see himself becoming quickly addicted to.

When they separated, endless moments later, Kirk opened his eyes to find that Spock had never closed his, and they smiled at each other (well, Kirk smiled; Spock blinked), content.

"I’m going to head back to my quarters before it gets too late," Kirk said, pushing his mug to the center of the table and standing briskly.  The woman who’d been paging through her datapad had never once looked up from it, he noticed, and didn’t do so now, even as Spock rose to his feet with him.

Kirk allowed that sentence its moment in the heartbeats between them before he quirked a grin.

"Come with me," he requested quietly.

"Yes," Spock said, and though Kirk was sorely tempted to reach for his hand with the memory of the last time he’d caressed those elegant fingers heavy in his memory and his cock, he resisted.  Time enough soon.

"Come, then," he said, and he couldn’t decide if he meant that as foreshadowing or a promise.

Kirk’s quarters were closest, so they went there.  Each step felt to the Human like he was floating on cloud nine, moving through a haze of heat and excitement that made his heart pound embarrassingly hard.  Of course, that wasn’t the only thing that was hard, and he was pitifully grateful most of the student body still seemed to be out partying.  Even so, he didn’t dare do more than brush his fingers against Spock’s every now and again, else he might just throw all caution to the wind and take the Vulcan right there in one of the corridors, with no regard for who may or may not see them.

They barely escaped that fate anyway, though in the end that wasn’t Kirk’s fault.  He may have - possibly - done a little bit more than brush his fingers against Spock’s as they rounded the last corner to his quarters, but really, that was no excuse for the Vulcan practically shoving him up against the door and pinning him there for a hot, hard kiss that made him pant for more.  Spock slid a leg between Kirk’s, until he had no choice but to straddle it; he rutted against the steely thigh pushing into him and felt pleasure building into what would shortly be a humiliatingly fast climax.

Letting go of his death-grip against the Vulcan’s shoulder, he wrenched his mouth away, gasping, "Wait, Spock.  Wait!"

But Spock wasn’t listening, and when Kirk tilted his head back to snatch a breath of air, a hot, suckling mouth latched onto his throat, almost hard enough to hurt.

"God," Kirk groaned, his cock strangling in his pants, and palmed the door release without looking.  They should have gone tumbling into the room; would have, if Kirk had been with any other partner, but Spock caught hold of his upper arm and held Kirk pressed to him even as gravity tried to snatch him away, feeding off his neck until the skin was unbearably sensitive.  They staggered a few steps and the door swished shut behind them.

"Engage privacy lock!" Kirk croaked, but couldn’t give a whit whether or not it worked.

"God, Spock, let up, give me -" he caught his breath, grinding his teeth as desire ached like a bruise through his whole body. "Give me a second!"

Spock broke off at last, loosening his mouth but not his hands, which smoothed down Kirk’s sides to his hips.  Fingers dug in there until Kirk squirmed away, ticklish.

"What have you done before, with men?" Kirk asked quickly, before the heat overrode all his good sense. "Have you ever…?"

"No," Spock rasped, in a voice so unlike his own that Kirk had to turn away or jump him. "I have some experience.  But not that.  Not – what you are thinking."

And Kirk wondered wildly whether he should be asking how Spock could tell what he was thinking.  But, no.  He didn’t think he had enough blood left in his brain to care.

"Okay," he said, blowing out a long breath.  "Come here."

Stripping off his shirt, he reached up to divest Spock as well, kissing him softly and trailing his fingers down a springy collection of chest hair; just enough to curl his fingers in and tug gently, which made Spock sigh in pleasure.  He thumbed a nipple which stirred but didn’t wake; not sensitive there, but a spot three inches below that made him shudder softly.

Kirk shoved him back a bit, unsteady with desire.  He undid the Vulcan’s pants, falling to his knees.

"Jim –"

Kirk ignored him, shoving clothes out of the way until he could study Spock's cock as it bobbed free at last.  It looked much like his; thinner, tinted green instead of red, with no covering of foreskin that he could see.  Kirk inhaled deeply and noticed the thicker musk scent immediately.  The first breath of it made Kirk’s head swim, and he had to taste at that point, one swipe of his tongue turning into more when a sharp gasp escaped Spock’s control.  One hand clutched tightly at Kirk’s shoulder, and he opened his mouth, sliding the blazingly hot head into his mouth and then down.

Kirk sucked him slowly, determined to give him an experience he’d not soon forget.  He pulled up again and again just so that he could go loose and let gravity guide his mouth back down until wiry hair brushed against his nose.  He could feel the legs to either side of him tighten in reaction, turning to stone in his hands.  He coaxed the muscles into letting go, the knees into bending, until Spock was meeting him move for move, falling into a blissful, rocking tempo.

"Spock," he murmured on an upstroke, pausing to flutter his tongue over the head, rub it delicately over the slit.  A hand fisted in his hair, letting go almost immediately, and the feel of it set Kirk’s heart to beating triple time.  Spock was on the edge, and he wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did.  He swiped his tongue in teasing, tormenting circles round and round, until the hand returned, two fingers applying a begging pressure to the back of his neck.  It was a wordless request Kirk was happy to oblige, and he sank without another word all the way down, letting the head settle into the back of his throat and sucking hard.  They’d waited long enough; there’d be other times to draw it out the way he wanted.

"Jim!" Spock groaned, thrusting hard for the first time, and spasms rocked through both of them as the Vulcan came.  Kirk rode it out, so aroused at the touch and feel of Spock’s pleasure that he could hardly keep from reaching for his own cock.  A moment later he didn’t need to.  Spock dropped to his knees beside him and pulled Kirk into a searing kiss, locking him in place with implacable strength.  Dizzy from lack of oxygen, Kirk could only pant for air as nimble fingers parted the fly of his pants and pulled him out, setting a brutal pace without delay.  
Kirk was proud of the fact that he lasted all of ten strokes before orgasm crashed through him.  He buried his moan in another wet, bruising kiss, twitching as Spock coaxed him through every pulse well into the aftermath, until he felt completely wrung out, absolutely sapped of anything remotely like energy.

They were both quiet for a few minutes, holding each other up and exchanging tired, sloppy kisses whenever the need presented itself.

"Is it a bad thing we didn’t quite make it to the bed?" Kirk asked, floating on the natural high as he blearily peered at his companion.

"Negative," Spock said with such rough pleasure that it made Kirk shudder faintly, his spent cock trying to rally for at least a token twitch of interest.  "Though that situation is easily remedied."

"Mmm," Kirk agreed, stumbling unsteadily to his feet.  He held out a hand, smiling at the topmost view of pointed ears peeking out through Spock’s straight black hair.  After a second or two of bemused thought Spock took it, allowing himself to be drawn to his feet.

Kirk led them over to the sleeping alcove, cleaning up along the way and noting the state of his room with embarrassment; it was certainly messy, though not as messy as it had been the day McCoy swore him to sobriety and female-oriented (really, how sexist of his friend) chastity.  He dropped heavily onto the bed, patting the space beside him for Spock, who perched on the edge of the mattress with enviable poise.

"What do you say to some sleep?" Kirk asked.  "I could really use some and I’d like you to stay, if you’re up to that.  The bed’s small, but we can make do for tonight, if you want to.  We’d just have to be careful of our hands, feet, and elbows."

Spock thought it over, but Kirk could see the answer in his eyes long before he spoke. "Very well. I do not normally sleep in physical proximity to another but I shall endeavor to contain wayward limbs to my portion of the bed, if you will do the same."

"Aw, Spock, you're such a sweet-talker," Kirk teased him, grinning.

Spock looked unperturbed by this, only nodding in apparent agreement.

The bed really was a tight fit for two people, being only a single.  Kirk ended up turning onto his left side, not normally the side he slept on, and encouraged Spock to curl up close. The Vulcan did so, and the heat radiating from him was enough that Kirk kicked off one of the thermal blankets, sure he’d boil in the middle of the night otherwise.

"You reading my mind now, Spock?" he asked, breathing slow and easy. "Because I have a ton of ideas about the kinds of ‘activities’ we might get up to tomorrow."

"Go to sleep, Jim," the Vulcan commanded gently, and Kirk craned his neck around to drop a playful kiss on the tip of Spock’s nose before sinking comfortably into the mattress and doing as he’d been ordered without further delay.

If he dreamed, he didn’t remember it.

~*~*~*~

It wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say that they spent the entirety of the next two days in bed, but it was a near thing.  Hunger finally forced them out, and even then they only went grudgingly after Kirk discovered he was out of emergency rations.

What finally got Kirk back into the swing of things was the knowledge that McCoy was due back imminently and Kirk had about a million developments to fill him in on.  Not least of which was the wager he’d managed to win fair and square (well, technically).  He hung around the shuttle bay loading zones for a full twenty minutes after McCoy’s transport had landed before he saw his friend heading toward him looking ragged but content.  Kirk stepped forward to slap him heartily on the back and demanded to know how his holidays had been.

"Oh, fine," McCoy told him as they headed for the doctor’s quarters.  "Can’t decide whether I’m glad it’s over or sorry to see it done.  I love Joanna, but she’s certainly a handful twenty-four/seven."

"I bet," Kirk laughed, without much sympathy.  Small wonder he himself had no current desire for children; like he didn’t have enough on his plate as it was.

"What about you?" McCoy asked on the tail-end of a yawn.  "Mmph.  Did you manage to survive the holidays?  And how were things back in Iowa?"

"Oh, survival is the least of it," Kirk told him with a mysterious sort of smile that made McCoy blink at him suspiciously. "And Iowa was Iowa.  You know how it is."

"Well," McCoy said, looking him up and down warily. "I _thought_ I knew how it was, anyway.  What’s up, Jim?  You seem - different."

"Different how?" Kirk asked, honestly curious.

"Don't know.  Looser, somehow.  Grounded.  Glad to have finals over with?"

"Yeah, and another term just around the corner," Kirk sighed, thinking about it.  Accelerated studies were not for the faint hearted and he knew it would all be worth it in the end, but he couldn’t help wishing that he had a little bit more free time on his hands.

They came up to McCoy's quarters as the doctor scanned himself in absently, still studying Kirk with thoughtful intensity.

"Huh," McCoy said.  "No way is this kind of relaxation natural.  Okay, what did you do?  Did you fall off the wagon?  If so you owe me two bottles of Saurian brandy."

"Nah," Kirk crowed, reminded of his victory in more ways than one.  "I followed your instructions to the letter, Bones.  You have until tomorrow to pay up but good."

"Hmm.  Something tells me there’s more to this story than meets the eye," McCoy intoned sotto-voice, and Kirk must have twitched a little in reaction - no more than a little, he thought - because his friend pounced on it like a lion on prey.

"I knew you wouldn’t last the full eight weeks without slipping somewhere!  Who was it - Uhura?  Ariel? Or was New Year’s too much to take for a dedicated party animal like you?"

"No, no, and no," Kirk informed him in haughty disdain.  He sniffed derisively, looking down his nose at his friend.  "Bones, I’m hurt at your lack of faith.  _Hurt_.  I won the bet fair and square."

"In a pig’s eye," McCoy retorted. "What was her name?  Go on, tell me."

He must have twitched again, because a looked of righteous indignation began to settle over his friend’s craggy features.  It wasn’t a good look for him, Kirk decided grumpily.

The cheerful chirp of the door chime interrupted whatever McCoy was gearing up to say, thankfully, and Kirk hurried to let whoever it was in before the doctor could send them away.  He should have known this conversation would spiral rapidly out of control; McCoy never took anything he said at face value.

It took him a second to correctly identify who was standing outside the door, mostly because it was about the last person he expected to see there.  

"Spock!" he exclaimed with surprise, stepping back automatically from the entryway so that the Vulcan could pace into the room.

"Commander," McCoy greeted, looking equally startled.  "Can I help you?"

"Indeed, Cadet.  Hello, Jim."

"Er, hi," Kirk said awkwardly, absently returning the Vulcan's soft look and wondering if Spock could be any more obvious.  Then again, he wasn’t to know that McCoy had eyes like a hawk and could sniff out a conspiracy at a hundred paces without breaking a sweat.  Kirk had no doubt that now all three of them were standing in the same room the gig was about to be up, in a big way.  And even as he had that thought, he could see McCoy looking between them with a faint air of puzzlement; it was with some resignation that Kirk sighed, shrugging fatalistically.

"Oh, thanks a lot Spock.  Ruin my ace in the hole why don’t you." He mock punched the Vulcan in the shoulder, clapping a hand there afterwards and squeezing when he received a quirked eyebrow in return.  He grinned at it.  One day he’d learn to imitate that look, and then there’d be hell to pay.

He could almost see the exact moment realization dawned on McCoy.  If Bones wasn’t a man prone to sticking his nose in other people’s business, an insufferable know-it-all, and suspicious of everything that lived, moved, and breathed (and many things that didn’t), the whole thing might have passed him by, but alas.  It didn’t.  Kirk expected some sort of explosive comment, maybe a ‘ha!’ or ‘what the hell are you thinking!’ or even a ‘no fucking way!’, but what he got instead was a slow, steady, terrifyingly evil smile that stretched one side of McCoy’s mouth further than Kirk had ever seen it go before.  And they'd been friends almost three years; he'd seen it stretch pretty far.

"I told you it'd work," McCoy said, while Kirk stared at him in surprise.  "Now pay up."

"I apologize for my doubts," Spock said, reaching into a bag Kirk hadn’t noticed him carrying and producing - one, two, three - bottles of Saurian brandy, all of which he immediately handed over into McCoy’s safe-keeping. "Your judgment in this instance was obviously far superior to mine."

"Don’t I know it," McCoy said, grinning fit to be tied, and all Kirk could think dazedly at that moment was, _what the bloody fuck?_

"Here, Jim," the doctor said, and handed him a single bottle of brandy, happily regarding the two left to him.  "Since you did _technically_ follow the letter of the law, even if you robbed the bank blind on a technicality.  Damn, Jim, you’re a lucrative proposition these days.  And you can still have the hangover remedies, not that I think you’ll need many of them, not with Spock here keeping you in line."

Kirk stared at them both, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "What –"

"No offense was meant," Spock assured him quickly, perhaps sensing danger in Kirk’s continued astonishment.  "Though it was I who approached Cadet McCoy as a known friend of yours for advice in drawing your attention, it was he who proposed convincing you to accept the wager placing you at loose ends with neither female companionship nor libations to distract you.  He had suggested that gaining and holding your attention would be markedly easier under these circumstances, and though I was initially skeptical, I now see I was in error."

"Why, Commander Spock, I do believe you just paid me the highest compliment you’re ever likely to give me," McCoy said, stowing away his two bottles with apparent relish as he observed Kirk like a king surveying a kingdom.  "Jim never could turn down a challenge, especially when he was bored out of his mind."

"So it would seem," the Vulcan confirmed.  "Though I maintain my belief that a simple introduction under those conditions would have sufficed."

"That's because Vulcans are all about the end-game; Humans on the prowl put just as much stock in the hunt as in the dinner.  Though," McCoy added with a wicked little leer, "I'm sure that didn't seem true while dinner was being eaten."

"Bones!" Kirk yelped, scandalized.  Spock looked pained but he very tellingly didn't deny it, and Kirk wasn't sure whether to be flattered by that or absolutely horrified.

"I thank you for your assistance," the Vulcan said formally, and McCoy waved him off with a negligent hand.

"You’re welcome.  And you, Jim boy?  Got any gratitude for this old country doctor?"

"Gratitude?" Kirk spluttered.  "I’m supposed to be grateful that you conspired to manipulate my _love life_?"

Spock looked satisfyingly anxious at that, about as anxious as a Vulcan could look, anyway, one eyebrow creeping uncertainly up into his hairline, but McCoy just rolled his eyes at this dramatic exclamation.  "Oh, please.  You mean your _sex_ life.  You didn’t _have_ a love life, Jim."

"But you –"

"Gave you one, I know. And don’t make me do it again. I’m a doctor, not mother damned Teresa." He wagged an admonishing finger in Kirk’s direction, looking far too pleased for Kirk’s peace of mind, and yet –

Well.

"Huh," he said, looking down at the bottle of Saurian brandy still clutched in his hand.  "I suppose you did at that."

He glanced over at his Vulcan lover and couldn’t help smiling faintly as Spock stared back at him in wordless disquiet.

"A toast?" he asked, a sly sort of forgiveness brimming in his tone, the sort that meant there would be no hard feelings, as long as there was a great deal of bowing and scraping along the way.  Spock blinked in wordless surprise, the unseen tension in his body relaxing into grateful relief.  Kirk was pleased to find he could tell the difference and wondered what other secret tells he might discover about Spock as their relationship evolved.  He rather hoped he might find, well, all of them.

"Of course," McCoy said magnanimously, and Kirk could hardly begrudge him his smugness considering the doctor's part in the grand scheme of things.  He thought carefully about being upset, and a part of him wasn't exactly pleased at being manipulated, but the larger part of him thought back on that moment in time when he'd realized he might have a bit of a problem, when he'd recognized he used alcohol and women as a mindless distraction.  Part of him would always be horrifyingly grateful for that, and although he’d never say it to him out loud, he really did owe McCoy for this – it wasn’t every man that bought his friend a clue and a long-term relationship for Christmas.

On the other hand, it was just a little bit disturbing how well McCoy knew him, not to mention how terrifyingly sneaky his friend was.  And he would most definitely have to find a way to pay back the good doctor in some manner that _didn’t_ involve a thank you.

"All right, gentlemen," McCoy said, producing glasses and handing out generous helpings of Kirk's brandy to all present.  "A toast! To new years and new beginnings!"

"New beginnings," he and Spock echoed, and Kirk took the first swig with careless disinterest.  Though the taste was as pleasing as ever, he didn’t need alcohol to keep the pressures of his life from closing in around him anymore.  No, he had something much better for that these days, and it came with pointed ears and devastating eyebrows.

Kirk couldn't recall ever being so happy to be outsmarted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First story moved to AO3! Dozens more to go... Oh dear. (dead)


End file.
